


Sometimes, Just Sometimes

by imzadinot



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, glow in the dark stars, that's literally it???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imzadinot/pseuds/imzadinot
Summary: When it was only the two of them laying there, draped in darkness and dreams, there were things that they sometimes, just sometimes talked about.





	Sometimes, Just Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> It's fluffy. Just fluffy. 
> 
> As always, I don't own the characters, I'm just borrowing the characters and a few details to play house.

Sometimes, and just sometimes, when they were on the verge of falling asleep, tired and stupid and curled around each other, Baz and Simon would talk. 

They wouldn’t talk about the trivial things, the things it felt okay to say to one another sat at the dining table in Penny’s kitchen or the things they already knew, the things that they kept each other safe from, the nightmares and the memories; but the things that they kept to themselves, parts of them that it didn’t otherwise feel okay to share. 

Baz dared to tell Simon about his fifth-year fantasies, about the nights he’d spent wanting to kiss Simon, the nights he spent telling himself that such a thing would never happen, the nights he spent wanting to let Simon catch up with him, just so he could end things. So Simon could end him. He told Simon this in the dark, the blankets pulled over the two of them, the windows open the way Simon liked, looking up at the ceiling where a whole universe of stars could be seen. 

The stars were just cheap, glow in the dark stickers, painfully naff in the light of day, but at night they’d twinkle and shine and Simon had spent a day struggling to reach the ceiling, forcing them to stick just so. Baz could have done it with magick in a half a minute, but there had been something brilliant about creating a whole universe of stars, a universe that only they could see.

The dark had allowed Baz to let spill the thoughts that used to haunt him and Simon hadn’t said anything, but then again, there hadn’t been anything to say. He’d taken Baz’s hand instead, linking their fingers together, still holding on when sleep overcame them both. 

Simon told Baz what it was truly like, going back to the homes for the summer. How he’d endure those long stretches where it felt like he’d entered a world more foreign to him than it had been the year before, a world so different from Watford, where magick wasn’t something every day but was unbearably absent instead. He’d tell Baz about the first summer, when he’d make himself sick, just thinking about school and magick and how life could be. The summers after were harder to talk about, the summers when he’d just pretend that he spent all year in homes like the one the Mage sent him back to every July, when the months stretched on in a haze of mundanity. 

He’d talk about the summers in a quiet voice, sliding closer and closer to unconsciousness, face half hidden in the pillow, all too aware of Baz’s quiet breathing and the rise and fall of his chest. There hadn’t been any words to say then, either, but that was maybe the point. 

They didn’t have to say anything then, shrouded in sleep and sheets and stars. 

Once, in a quiet voice, Baz admitted he’d never truly wanted to kill Simon, not really. Not outside their scuffles, the stupid schoolboy fights they’d had when they both wanted to make the other bleed. It was the other times he hadn’t really given his all to. “The Chimaera, that wasn’t supposed to go the way it did. I didn’t think it would really hurt you, that you’d let it. Then…I wanted to hurt you, just not the way the Chimaera wanted to. And, and that time, with Philippa. That. I’d go back, now. I wouldn’t dare. I didn’t know, and it just happened.” 

He’d been acutely aware of the slight shift of Simon next to him, and he closed his eyes, thinking Simon was pulling away from him. Thinking that he’d crossed the line of what they were allowed to say when they were like that. Thinking that Simon didn’t believe him. Simon simply threw an arm around Baz, shifting so he could lay like that more comfortably. 

On another such occasion, Simon let himself admit something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Something he hadn’t let himself think about in a long time. “I didn’t think I’d ever get this. You and me. I didn’t think I’d still be here, for Penny to propose to Micah, for any of it. I didn’t think I’d get an endgame. I thought…I thought there’d be something too big for me to fight. That I’d fight it anyway. And then I wouldn’t get to live to see them get their happily ever after, let alone get mine…I thought, if there was one, it would be Agatha and me and a house in the country or whatever she wanted because that was what was expected. I didn’t think there could be anything else. Let alone you.” 

He’d kept his voice steady, suggesting that he was unbothered by the realisation and memory of how close he’d come to not getting his endgame but the shifting of muscles across his back and the clenching of his jaw led Baz to believe otherwise. And Baz understood. He hadn’t thought he’d get an endgame either. He hadn’t thought he’d get Simon. And he said as much, without words. Tracing the words into the constellations that stretched across Simon’s skin. 

The constellations that Baz could map out in his mind, tracing them across Simon’s rib cage to his back, along to his neck and below his jaw, constellations that he’d scattered across the ceiling when Simon had handed him stars and grinned as he’d reached up, his fingers brushing the ceiling, deftly sticking stars in a pattern only he really knew, blending them into the swirling clusters that Simon had laboured over. 

There were some things that didn’t need words to be said, sentiments that could make the things they couldn’t other otherwise talk about seem slightly more okay, the thoughts that could only be sorted through when there wasn’t anyone else there to listen but the two of them. 

When it was only the two of them laying there, draped in darkness and dreams, there were things that they sometimes, just sometimes talked about.


End file.
